


One Day

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [5]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Sex Is Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-07 22:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Sometimes it’s fate not Ilsa that pushes them together.This is quite daft really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to hobbeshalftail3469 for your help and encouragement on this. Lost my writing mojo a bit, everything I’ve written in the last month feels like rubbish, but hopefully things will pick up again now :)

Robin drummed her fingers lightly on the steering wheel. The traffic moved fractionally, and she inched the BMW forward and stopped again. The wipers swished through the rain running down the windscreen. Strike peered morosely into the empty coffee flask.

“Next time we’re taking the train,” he said. “Should have known this route would be busy.”

They crawled through a small town, still making their way slowly towards London. It was going to be midnight before they got back to Denmark Street at this rate. They people-watched idly as the traffic inched along. The evening streets were busy, restaurants and pubs filled. People ducked in and out of doorways, umbrellas glistening under the street lights, dripping.

“Why so many people?” Strike wondered.

The traffic suddenly eased a little and Robin slid the car smoothly forward. She glanced sideways at Strike. “Are you serious?” she asked.

Strike frowned, puzzled. “It’s Wednesday,” he said. “Just seems odd that so many people are out for the evening.”

Robin chuckled. He really was oblivious. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Really? So it is,” Strike said in surprise. “Now there’s a silly overpriced day invented by card-makers to boost sales.”

“And chocolatiers and flower-sellers,” Robin agreed. “Whose daft idea was it to make everyone buy roses in February?”

Strike laughed. “You’re not a fan either, then?” he asked. Robin shook her head, her eyes on the road as they drove along. “Thirty miles an hour, whoop whoop,” she said. “And no. Matthew always made a big deal of it, had to be seen to be getting roses for his wife, but he always had to do it in a way that his bosses knew, and it was always so impersonal. Felt like it was for show, not for me.”

Strike nodded. “For me it was just one more way to fuck up in Charlotte’s eyes. I usually forgot, or had to work, and she’d not speak to me for a week.”

“I want nothing to do with it in future,” Robin said. “When I eventually do meet someone else, I’m going to get them to agree up front that we’re ignoring it.”

“Good plan, me too.”

There was a pause. A small smile played around Robin’s mouth. Just another little way in which they were so similar, she thought. She loved finding points of agreement with him. It deepened their already solid friendship, increased her fondness for him.

Strike glanced across at her. “Maybe one day we could ignore it together,” he said quietly.

Robin held her breath for a moment. Did he mean as friends, in a “get together for a curry” kind of way, or...? Either way...

“I’d like that,” she replied softly, smiling again. “One day.”

She gave another soft laugh. “Maybe one day we could ignore New Year’s Eve together, too. So much pressure to have a good time, all piled onto one night.”

Strike nodded again. “Definitely. All the pubs too busy, everywhere charging a fortune.” He paused again. “I’d like that too. One day.”

They drove on in companionable quiet for a while, leaving the town behind them. Robin pondered the subtle shift in their relationship. She and Strike were definitely just friends, but sometimes it felt inevitable that one day they’d be more. They’d both just almost agreed as such, out loud. One day.

Strike gazed out at the passing hedges and wished the rain would ease just a little so he could open the window to smoke. He could never quite bring himself to tell Robin straight out how he felt, but they were drifting together, he was sure of it. One day.

They were both jerked from their thoughts by a bleep and a warning light on the dashboard of the BMW, followed by a splutter from the engine.

“Bugger,” Robin muttered, pulling over to the side of the road and putting the hazard lights on. She switched off the engine.

“What is it?” Strike asked, his mouth curving in fondness at the sound of his favourite northern swear word.

“It’s overheating. When was it last serviced?”

“Ages ago, it’s due next month.”

“Have you got roadside cover?”

“Er, no.”

Robin looked at him sideways and said nothing.

“We’ll wait a bit and try to creep on,” she said presently. “Ugh, I wish this rain would stop.”

Strike nodded. He wound the window down a little, scowling at the way his shoulder was instantly wet, and reached for his cigarettes.

Robin hunted about and found the lever for the bonnet. Muttering darkly at the weather, she scrambled out into the rain and went to inspect the engine and poke about. Within a minute she had slammed the bonnet back down and was jumping back into her seat, trying ineffectually to shake the rain off before she got back in.

“Plenty of water in the radiator,” she said.

“That’s good, right?” Strike tapped his cigarette out the window to remove the ash, and a huge drop of rain fell onto it and extinguished it. He sighed and flicked it into the hedge.

“No, bad. If it was just out of water, I could fill it up. Something else is wrong.”

They sat for a while, pondering their options. “We’re miles from the nearest station,” Robin said, searching on her phone. “But it looks like there’s a Travelodge a couple of miles on. We could sort the car out in the morning.”

“No chance at all of making it back?” Strike asked. She shook her head. “Can’t drive it if it’s overheating, we’ll wreck it.”

She gingerly switched the engine on and pulled back out onto the road. They’d barely gone a mile when the light came back on and the bleeping started again.

“Oh, _bollocks_ ,” Robin said crossly, and pulled into a lay-by. “Abandon ship.”

Strike grimaced and looked at the rain.

“Come on, it can’t be far.” Robin pulled up her hood and clambered back out of the car. Strike sighed, shoved his cigarettes deep into the inside pocket of his coat, and followed. Robin handed him his rucksack from the boot, grabbed her hold-all, locked the car and they set off.

It only took them half an hour, but they were drenched by the time they arrived at the Travelodge. The car park was ominously full. Robin’s heart sank. _Surely all the Valentine’s couples will be at other, better hotels,_ she thought. _Who goes to a Travelodge for romance?_

They paused in the foyer, dripping, glad to be out of the rain. The young clerk behind the desk looked at them doubtfully. He looked harassed, as though he was having a difficult evening.

“I’m afraid we’re full,” he said. Strike groaned.

Robin gave the clerk her best smile. She glanced at his badge. “Carl, hi.” She pressed her hands together. “Do you really not have anything? Our car broke down so we’re on foot. We’re absolutely at your mercy.” She smiled again, hopefully.

Carl hesitated. He clearly wanted to help the damsel in distress. Strike hung back and watched, amused.

“Well,” the young man began. “We’re fully booked with a, er, conference. But one set of keys is still here. I think one, ah... delegate didn’t turn up.”

Robin frowned a little at the pauses. “Any chance that room is free?” she asked.

Carl glanced nervously towards the corridor. “I could ask,” he muttered, doubtfully.

Robin gave another of her best dazzling smiles, hoping it made up for her bedraggled appearance. “That would be great, thank you.”

Carl sighed, squared his shoulders as though going into battle, and went through a side door. Shrieks of merriment could be heard down the corridor. Strike and Robin exchanged puzzled glances.

Carl hurried back shortly, his face red. “Yes, it’s free,” he said. “And you’re at the end of the corridor, luckily.”

“Wonderful, we’ll take it, thank you,” Robin said, relieved. “Why luckily?”

Carl flushed redder. “It’s an Ann Summers conference,” he muttered. Strike snorted and Robin shot him a warning glare.

“We’re very grateful,” she told Carl as he handed them the keys.

“Robin, are you sure about this?” Strike murmured as they set off down the corridor, still dripping. “One room...”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she replied firmly. “We’ll have to make it work.”

Before they could think any further on having to share a room, a door ahead of them opened and two girls came out. One was clutching a bottle of wine and they both wore basques and stockings, chattering as they went. They spotted Strike and Robin and pulled up short.

“Sorry!” squeaked the blonde, giggling. “Thought we had the whole place booked out.”

“You did,” Robin assured her, trying not to laugh at the way Strike was suddenly concentrating very hard on the pattern of the carpet and the wallpaper, his eyes firmly anywhere but on the ample bosoms in front of him. “Our car broke down, we’ve taken the room of someone who didn’t turn up.”

The brunette winked at her. “You’re in for a loud night,” she said. “These Valentine’s conferences get pretty raucous. And we’re trying out the new lingerie later after we’ve finished the wine.” She ran her eyes over Strike. “Perhaps your boyfriend would like a demonstration.”

“He’s not—” Robin began, but Strike spoke over her. “Thanks, but I think we’re just going to have a quiet night in,” he said firmly. “Good evening.”

Robin followed him up the corridor, blushing. “Cormoran, they think you’re my boyfriend,” she hissed. He glanced at her, amused.

“Could be worse.”

“How so?”

“They could think I’m not your boyfriend.”

Robin paused to let this sink in, and then started to giggle helplessly at the thought of Strike being a lone male in a hotel full of tipsy, lingerie-wearing Ann Summers reps.

“So it’s my turn to rescue you,” she giggled. “But hey, at least I could have had the room to myself!”

Strike rolled his eyes and let them in the door.

“Yikes.” Robin stopped giggling. “I kind of hoped it would be twin beds. And... bigger.”

“Yup,” Strike said, regarding the double bed that almost filled the space. “That’s Travelodge for you.”

“Okay,” Robin said. “Good thing we’re friends. Mind if I shower first? I’m soaked.”

“Go ahead. Mind if I smoke out of the window? Don’t fancy running the gauntlet of the corridor alone.”

Robin giggled again and nodded. She dropped her hold-all off her shoulder onto the floor of the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Strike moved to the window and opened it, glad that it was a horizontal style so his cigarette wouldn’t go out again. He dug the packet out of his pocket, thankful that the combination of deep pockets and plastic packaging had kept his smokes dry, and lit one up, determinedly not thinking about naked Robin on the other side of the bathroom door.

...

“Er... Robin, are you okay? You’ve been in there ages.”

“Yes,” came a small voice. “Just plucking up the courage to come out.”

“Why?”

The door opened, revealing Robin in nothing but a white towel, her cheeks red. Strike took a breath and hurriedly averted his eyes again.

“No robes, and all my clothes are soaked, that hold-all is useless,” she muttered.

Strike groaned. “My rucksack won’t be much better.”

“These towels could be bigger,” Robin grumbled, stepping past him into the room. Strike caught the back view of her. The towel, which she had hitched up to fully cover her chest, barely covered her arse. Her legs were impossibly long, her peaches-and-cream skin tinged pink from the shower. He closed his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

...

When Strike emerged from the bathroom, also only wearing a towel, Robin was sat on the bed with an Ann Summers bag in front of her. She glanced up at him, and her breath caught. He seemed broader somehow without a shirt on, his thick swathe of chest hair almost overly masculine. Her eyes were pulled down to where the hair tapered across his stomach and disappeared below the towel. Blushing, she dragged her gaze away, and missed the amused twist of his mouth as she turned her attention back to the bag in front of her.

“The good news is we have wine and food, of sorts,” she told him, carefully not looking at him and ignoring a sudden warmth in her belly that had been caused by the sight of all that chest hair.

“And the bad news?” His voice seemed deeper, huskier. _You’re imagining it,_ she told herself.

“It’s cheap plonk, by the looks of it, red. And the food is a willy-shaped lolly or chocolate boobs.” She waved them at him cheerfully. “Have you a preference?”

Strike snorted. “I’ll pass on the willy-shaped lolly, thanks.”

“Boobs for you, then.” She passed them to him, not quite meeting his eye. “And we have some, er... novelty playing cards to keep us amused.”

“Christ,” he murmured darkly, catching a glimpse of the naked male and basque’d female torsos on the box. “Anything else?”

Robin flushed scarlet and pushed the bag away. “Handcuffs,” she muttered, and Strike barked out a laugh.

“Let’s see how bored we get, hey?” he said, and Robin went even redder. “Come on, we've got to see the funny side. This is ridiculous. Where did all this come from, anyway?”

“Goody bag, it was on the bed,” Robin said. “All the reps must get one.”

She squared her shoulders. He was right, they would just have to see the funny side. “Let’s start the wine.” She unscrewed the lid. “Any glasses in the bathroom? No, of course not. Fuck it.” And she took a swig directly from the bottle and passed it to him.

Grinning, Strike took a swig while Robin unwrapped her lolly and stuck it in her mouth, determined not to be self-conscious. _We’re just mates stuck in a silly situation,_ she told herself. _This is funny. So why am I finding it all kind of hot, too?_ It didn’t help that Strike was stood there practically naked. His shoulders were broad, his chest firm, and the towel which skimmed his hips barely reached his knees. She was glad he wasn’t self-conscious about his leg around her any more. One less thing to feel awkward about.

Strike dragged his eyes away from her lips wrapped around the cock-shaped lolly. _Funny side, see the funny side,_ he told himself. _This is ludicrous._ He passed the bottle back to Robin and eyed the chocolate. He was hungry, but what was the best way to go about eating chocolate boobs in front of a woman you hoped one day to ask out?

In the end he settled for unwrapping the chocolate and breaking it apart as best he could.

“Give us a bit,” Robin said, and he wordlessly handed her a piece. She looked at it and giggled. “A nipple, thanks.” She stuffed it in her mouth and winked at him.

Chuckling, Strike went to start sorting out his clothes. At least the radiator was on, they could start to dry some things. He saw that Robin had hooked her trousers over the curtain rail and hung her top on the radiator. He went to put his boxers next to it, and paused at the sight of a very brief black lacy bra and knickers hung there too. He glanced back at Robin, one eyebrow raised, and she squeaked when she caught his meaning.

“I forgot to go the laundrette this week, ran out of the functional stuff,” she said.

He grinned. “And here was I thinking you always wear undies like that.”

“God, no, too uncomfortable. Special occasions only.”

There was a momentary pause while Strike tried not to imagine Robin in the scraps of black lace. Desire stirred within him and he drew a deep breath, and then Robin’s brain caught up with what she’d just said. “Not that that’s what this is!” she said hurriedly. “This is... I don’t even know what this is. A farce.”

She shivered. “I’m cold.”

Strike looked at her. “Your hair’s still wet.”

“There was only one towel each. I had to prioritise.”

Strike laughed again. “This is so ridiculous. I’d offer you mine, but...”

Robin squeaked and blushed again. “Maybe there’s a hair dryer.”

She gulped more wine while Strike hunted through drawers. The back view of him was if anything even sexier than the front. His shoulders were broad and strong, his back muscled, his arse firm beneath the towel. She took another gulp of wine and dragged her eyes back to... her lolly. No, that wouldn’t do. The playing cards. No!

“I’ll ring the desk and ask for a hair dryer,” Strike said.

“Poor Carl,” Robin giggled, trying to distract herself from impure thoughts about her friend and colleague.

Poor Carl did indeed look rather harassed at having to walk the full corridor twice. He handed Strike the hair dryer and hurried away.

“Thanks,” Robin took it gratefully and went to plug it in and set it going. Strike sat on the bed and grabbed the wine and tried not to look at her, but his eyes kept sliding back to her slim figure. She stood with her back to him at the mirror, blasting the hot air through her hair, then bent over to dry the roots upside down. The towel rode up just enough that he could see the curves of her bottom peeking out below the edge, and desire surged in his groin again. Suddenly he realised that she was looking across at him, still upside down, and he flushed and looked away and took another swig of the wine. His lips were touching the neck of the same bottle she’d so recently drunk from.

Robin straightened up and looked at him, sudden heat in her gaze. Their eyes met, and there was a moment of high tension, drawn out over the noise of the dryer. Dark eyes boring into blue-grey ones. One day...

There was a bang and a blue flash from the hair dryer. Robin shrieked and dropped it, and with a clunk it went silent and the room plunged into darkness.

“Robin?!”

“I’m okay, it didn’t shock me.”

“Stay there, I’ll ring the desk again.” Robin could hear Strike scrabbling for the phone.

Soon poor Carl was at the door again.

“I can’t get the electrician out till tomorrow,” he said. “It must have blown the fuse. I’m sorry, I don’t have another room to offer you, and I couldn’t find a torch, they always go missing. I found these.” He held out a handful of candles.

Strike just looked at him. “Really?”

“Sorry,” Carl muttered, looking nervously over his shoulder as shrieks came from further down the corridor. He hurried away.

Strike grabbed his lighter from the desk before the door closed and plunged them into darkness again. He lit the candles and put them on the desk and windowsill, moving anything flammable away from them, and turned back to Robin.

She was sat on the bed now, wine in one hand and phone in the other, the moment of heat between them apparently forgotten. She glanced up at him. “No signal. You?”

“Mine’s dead. I’ll charge— No, I won’t.” Strike sighed ruefully.

Suddenly Robin started giggling hysterically. She laughed till tears came to her eyes. Strike watched with fond amusement.

“Budge up,” he said, moving to sit next to her on the bed. “What’s so funny?”

Robin scooted over. She passed him the bottle and wiped her eyes.

“We’re stuck sharing a hotel room, in a rainstorm, on Valentine’s Day, at a sex shop conference, with only towels to wear, by candlelight, with wine, and nothing to amuse us except suggestively shaped food and rude playing cards!” she cried, dissolving into giggles again. “Think fate is trying to tell us something?”

Strike laughed too. “What, like maybe...?” He trailed off.

Robin’s giggles died away and she stilled. “What if ‘one day’ is today?”

Strike stopped laughing as well and looked at her. “Robin...”

“No, you’re right,” she said, hurriedly. “One day is when we decide it is, not pushed on us by silly circumstances. Cards?” she finished brightly, and grabbed the pack and started to open it.

There was a welcome pause while she battled with the plastic wrapping. The candles flickered, and her hair glinted red-gold in the soft light. Strike was mesmerised by her unconscious beauty as she concentrated on the task.

“Right,” she said, passing them to him. “You shuffle. If you don’t mind, I’m going to get into bed, I’m still cold.”

“Good plan,” Strike replied, businesslike. The room was colder now. They stood and stripped back the covers and climbed in, leaving plenty of space in the middle. Robin dragged the covers right up from the bottom of the bed and pulled them up to her chest, wrapping them around under her arms. She felt a little better being properly covered. Strike was shuffling the cards and trying not to look at her or think about the fact that they were now actually in bed together, practically naked. By candlelight. Slightly tipsy. In a rainstorm. And Christ, she had picked up her lolly and was sucking on it again. He was suddenly very glad of the extra coverage across his groin area.

“Right, cards are shuffled. What shall we play?”

Robin wrinkled up her nose in thought. “Trying to remember what me and my brothers used to play,” she said. “Rummy?”

Then she flushed and grinned a cheeky grin. “Or we could play strip poker...”

Strike laughed. “That would be all or nothing, only wearing one thing each!”

“And I’m crap at poker, I’d lose,” Robin replied. Strike cleared his throat, an image of naked Robin in his mind again. She was so very close, and only wearing a towel...

Robin looked away. This evening kept veering from farcical to highly arousing. She swallowed. “Maybe I should go and see if the girls down the hall have anything I could wear,” she muttered.

Strike made a slightly strangled sound. “Robin...”

Her eyes widened in shock. “From their normal clothes, I mean!” she squeaked, flushing red again. But now all Strike could think about was Robin in a basque and stockings like they’d seen in the corridor earlier. _And what man doesn’t find that an utter turn-on,_ he thought ruefully. He was growing hard below the covers and his towel now, shifting uncomfortably and so thankful she couldn’t see.

Fuck, Robin thought. She’d not missed his blush, nor the way he was squirming now. She wondered if he was becoming aroused at the thought she’d inadvertently put in his mind. The possibility of it made her horny too suddenly, and she felt a flush sweep up her chest, heat pooling in her groin. She hoped he’d not notice in the flickering candlelight.

She grabbed the wine from her bedside table and took another swig. They were well down the bottle now. Strike was dealing the cards, and she gave a little squeak at the sight of them. Some were very risqué indeed. She spilled the wine a little, and without thinking she licked the neck of the bottle to stop any further drips. She heard Strike’s breath hitch and didn’t dare look at him. She wordlessly handed him the bottle and picked up her cards.

“Rummy?” she said, wondering why her voice was so hoarse suddenly, and he nodded. He set the rest of the pack aside.

Robin tried to keep her mind and her eyes on the cards as they played, but both insisted on wandering. She couldn’t stop glancing furtively as his chest, at the dark swathe of hair, at his stubbled jaw, at the muscles in his upper arms. She wriggled, pulling the covers higher up her chest. They kept slipping a little when she reached to pick up a card.

Strike was finding it difficult to believe they’d thought the room cold before. Heat swept over him in waves now, but he didn’t dare abandon the protection of the bedcovers. He had largely managed to banish the image of Robin in saucy lingerie from his mind, only to have it replaced with the image of her tongue licking up the neck of the wine bottle. He grabbed the bottle from his bedside table, took another swig and passed it back to her.

Robin look a welcome gulp and twisted to put the bottle on her bedside table. She studied her cards, and then reached again to pick up from the pack. The covers dropped to her lap, but she didn’t mind. She was too hot anyway.

She looked expectantly at Strike for his turn, and stilled as she saw him looking down at her. She knew before she even glanced down at herself that she’d lost the towel as well as the bedclothes.

Strike raised his gaze back to hers, and she saw the arousal in his eyes, but also the amusement. He threw his cards down on the bed.

“Right, that’s it!” he said. “I give up. I surrender. We are now stuck sharing a hotel room, in a rainstorm, on Valentine’s Day, at a sex shop conference, with only towels to wear, by candlelight, with wine, and nothing to amuse us except suggestively shaped food and rude playing cards, and then you’ve given me two mental images of you in risqué underwear AND now you’re flashing me?”

Robin was giggling helplessly again now, unable to decide if she was more amused or aroused.

“There’s only so much a guy can take,” he finished. “I wave the white flag.” He reached beneath the bedclothes and with a flourish produced his towel, which he waved in the air before lobbing it across the room. “I capitulate. Maybe ‘one day’ _is_ today.”

Robin grinned at him. “Thank God for that,” she said, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a piece in a different fandom by the wonderfully talented Sarah_M. I really wanted to do a similar thing for our guys over here, and have made it as different as I can. Sarah_M, if you stumble on this and don’t like that I have borrowed your idea, please shout and I’ll take it down. Only flattery is intended <3
> 
> There currently isn’t a Chapter 2, but there could be. Smut can always be supplied ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed to E rating for the (much) requested smut.

There was a delicious moment as their lips met, Robin leaning across the bed towards Strike, cards scattering. She heard and felt his breathing hitch, and then she was kissing him and he was kissing her back, their lips moving together, the stubble on his top lip giving delicious friction.

Strike drew back after a moment. “Robin...” His voice was hoarse now, his eyes dark.

Robin paused and looked at him. “Everything okay?” she whispered.

Strike closed his eyes. “Everything is very, very okay,” he murmured. “Too okay. Just take a moment to think this through, will you? After everything that’s gone on this evening... I just want you to be sure.”

Robin smiled softly. “I don’t need to think it through,” she said gently. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else for months.”

Strike chuckled ruefully. He opened his eyes, caught sight of her naked body and hurriedly closed them again. “Me too. Could you maybe put your, er, towel back on? I’m trying to be gentlemanly here, but you’re making it...” He trailed off and flushed as he realised where his sentence was headed.

Robin giggled. “..hard? I’m making it hard?” she asked suggestively, and Strike groaned.

“Robin, please,” he begged. “My resistance has taken a few heavy punches this evening.”

“I don’t want you to resist,” she whispered, and leaned in and pressed her mouth to his again.

With another groan, Strike kissed her back, opening his mouth to hers, his tongue stroking forwards. Robin pressed closer, her hands on his chest, her fingers splaying across the chest hair she had longed to touch since the moment he’d stepped out of the bathroom. She broke the kiss briefly to murmur, “I’m not the only one who’s been flashing this evening. I wanted to touch you the minute I saw you in that towel.”

He gave a growl and kissed her again, his hands reaching for her and hesitating, then dropping back to clutch at the bedcovers over his thighs. Robin kissed him deeply and then drew back a little again. “What’s the matter?” she whispered.

Strike gave another rueful chuckle. “I don’t know what to do with my hands,” he confessed.

Robin laughed. “I can’t imagine that’s a problem you normally have.”

Strike gave her a sideways look. “I don’t normally kiss someone for the first time when they’re already totally naked,” he said. “Seems a bit forward to just...” He gestured helplessly at her exposed chest.

Robin grinned cheekily. “Second time, technically,” she said, and saw his eyes widen a little at her acknowledgment of that unmentioned long-ago brush of lips in a hospital car park. “I want you to touch me,” she encouraged, and he smiled and reached for her again, sliding his big hands round her waist and pulling her in to carry on kissing her. He moaned against her mouth at the feel of her silken skin under his touch.

“Am I still making it hard?” Robin whispered, grinning and then squirming at the delicious feel of his hands sliding around her back, stroking softly.

“God, Robin, you’d achieved that before you even touched me, even before you flashed me,” Strike said, his voice rough with arousal.

It was Robin’s turn to chuckle. “Was it the lolly?”

“No, the thought of you getting something to wear from the girls down the hall. Preferably a basque and stockings...”

Robin drew back a little and raised an eyebrow at him. “Duly noted,” she said with a sultry smile. “That can be arranged.” She grinned wickedly as his eyes darkened further and he groaned again at the thought of it.

“Come here,” he muttered thickly and pulled her in for another kiss.

They kissed and kissed for a minute or two, tongues exploring, stroking, sliding. Robin pressed closer still, moving herself nearer to him on the bed and sliding her hands into his curly hair.

A shriek of merriment from the hallway caused them to break apart, a little out of breath. Robin giggled. “I’d almost forgotten about them,” she said.

Strike laughed a little. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined we might get together, in a cheap hotel surrounded by shrieking women and only free plonk to drink and silly sweets to eat.”

Robin winked at him. “Imagine it a lot, did you?” she teased, and grinned, satisfied, as his blush gave him away.

There was more chatter from the hallway outside. Robin half turned her head, listening. “What are they up to?” she wondered. Then they heard music start to play and realisation dawned.

“I think this might be the lingerie modelling bit,” she said. “They must be using the corridor as a catwalk. Did you lock the door?”

Strike nodded, and Robin looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I should go and join in,” she said, and glanced sideways at him.

Strike laughed and pulled her into a hug, and she shivered at the delicious feeling of his skin on hers. “I prefer you right here,” he said. “This isn’t exactly setting the mood for what we’re trying to do, though.”

Robin laughed too. “This certainly is...interesting,” she said, as the music cranked up and cheers and whoops began. Evidently the show had begun, the tipsy women in the hall cheering one another on.

Strike pulled away from her a little and turned to slide his legs off the bed. He unfastened his leg and set it aside, and turned back to her. “Come here,” he said, wriggling down under the bedcovers. “Maybe we just have to settle for a hug for a while.”

Robin giggled and slid down next to him, wrapping her arms around him. “This whole evening is just ridiculous,” she said. But her hands wouldn’t stay still, running over his chest and the muscles in his upper arms, and Strike rumbled his appreciation at her touches and stretched and flexed beneath her hands.

“Robin...” he murmured, not for the first time that night.

Robin giggled again. “Can’t help it,” she said. “You feel great.”

Strike’s hands were moving too now, drifting to stroke along the curves of her back. She arched into him, pressing against him, and his hands slid lower, caressing the curve of her hip. Robin hooked her leg over him, pulling his hips to hers, rolling in to him to press her body to his and he groaned again. He kissed her, and grinned against her mouth as more whoops and cheers erupted from the hallway.

“It’s like we’re being cheered on,” he murmured, and Robin laughed again.

“I think we’re just going to have to accept the weirdness and go with it,” she said.

“Yup,” he replied, and lowered his head to her chest.

Robin gasped as his mouth and hands explored her breasts, stroking, sucking, nibbling. Her head dropped back, the noise in the hallway forgotten as desire surged sharply within her, real heat that had been quietly simmering all evening flaring up fiercely. “God, Cormoran...” she muttered hoarsely.

A thump from outside the door made them both jump. Strike buried his face in her chest and laughed gently against her skin. “It’s like they’re doing it deliberately.”

Robin giggled too and pulled his face up to hers to kiss him.

“Well, we have two choices, I guess,” she said presently. “We can go ahead with this, or we can wait for a time that’s...a bit more conducive to the mood.”

He smiled down at her. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t want to wait,” Robin said honestly. “We’ve been waiting so long anyway...” Strike dipped his head in acknowledgment of her words. “So,” she went on, “maybe we just need to accept that this isn’t going to be some charged, romantic thing. It’s going to be silly simply because of the situation.”

Strike grinned. “I can do silly,” he said, and rolled her beneath him, pressing her body down into the mattress with his and burying his face in her shoulder, growling and nipping at her. Robin giggled and gasped, amused and aroused at once, and squirmed underneath him. She could feel him grinning against her skin as he swept his lips over her shoulder and up her neck, and she shivered.

The shrieking and whooping carried on in the hall, but somehow it mattered less now that it was part of the mood and not interrupting it. Robin giggled at the sound of someone clearly falling over and the shouts of laughter that erupted. Strike paused in his exploration of her neck and shook his head, amused, as the music was turned up louder, the dance bass rocking through the whole hotel.

“I guess Carl gave up,” Robin murmured, her fingernails scraping across Strike’s scalp gently, enjoying the way it made him gasp and squirm, storing that knowledge up for later.

“I think Carl is probably locked in his office, hiding under his desk,” Strike replied, his voice a little unsteady. Robin chuckled and then gasped as he sucked at the soft skin below her ear. She stretched beneath him, shuddering at the feel of his bulk over hers, his mouth on her neck. Strike drew back a little so he could run his hand down her body. He put his hand on the mattress next to her to lower his head to her, and paused.

“What?” Robin whispered.

“What’s this?” he muttered. His hand had found the discarded goody bag. “I thought we ate all the sweets.”

Robin grinned. “That, Mr Strike, is the handcuffs,” she said, and squeaked as he raised his eyebrows suggestively at her.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured. “They don’t seem like such a silly idea now, do they?”

Robin giggled. “What did you have in mind?”

He shook his head. “I’m only joking,” he said. “That seems like something to discuss when we, ah, know each other better. In this department.” He winked.

“Hey, we said we’d go silly. Don’t back out on me now.”

Strike looked at her, and Robin gazed back, her chin lifted boldly. A slow smile crept over his face.

“Challenge accepted,” he said huskily. He sat up and opened the bag, and produced the fluffy pink handcuffs with a flourish. Robin started giggling again.

“Right,” he said, and gently clipped one side around her wrist. “You sure?”

Robin nodded, laughing now. “Can’t get much sillier.”

Strike drew her arm up to the rail at the head of the bed. Robin wriggled into place, kicking the bag out of the way. It slid to the floor as she reached up to help. Strike reached round to take the cuffs from the other side of the rail. On impulse, Robin grabbed the other side and clipped it round his wrist.

Strike jumped. “Robin!”

She grinned at him. “More fun,” she said. “Now we’re both trapped.” She gave a cheeky tug on the cuffs that held them together around the rail.

Strike raised both eyebrows at her. “The key,” he said, “is in the bag.” He looked around.

Robin gasped, and then began giggling helplessly.

“Robin, where’s the bag?”

“I kicked it onto the floor,” she managed. Strike looked at her. “And can either of us reach it?”

“No!” shrieked Robin, giggling harder and harder. Strike gazed at her, entranced. “I like fun sex with you,” he said suddenly. “Your boobs jiggle when you laugh.”

Robin shook her head at him fondly. “Men,” she muttered, but without rancour.

Strike laughed. “So. Are you going to ring Carl, or am I?”

Robin squeaked and pressed her free hand to her eyes. “Oh, God,” she said. “Surely things can’t get any more ridiculous tonight? What are we going to do?”

Strike smiled at her fondly. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “They’re novelty ones, pretty sure I can break them. When I want to.” His gaze darkened, and Robin drew a shuddering breath, her giggles forgotten.

“Not yet,” she murmured, and pulled him down to kiss her.

Strike tangled his fingers with hers where their hands were joined together and rolled his body onto hers again. It was highly erotic suddenly, and Robin gasped at the feel of him. “God, Cormoran, I want you so much,” she muttered, and gasped again as he rocked his hips to hers and she felt his erection against her, hard and ready. “Me too,” he said breathily. His free hand found hers and held that one above her head too, his hands pressing hers into the pillows, and he rocked his hips against her, rubbing his cock against her slick folds. Robin groaned and squirmed beneath him, aching for him.

“Normally,” he said, grinning again suddenly, “I’d ask if I could taste you. I’d kiss all the way down your body until I could lie between your legs. But I’m not sure that’s physically possible now.”

Robin moaned a little with desire. “Shame. I didn’t think that through,” she whispered raggedly.

“How about I tell you about it instead,” he murmured, and moved his mouth to her ear to describe to her in intimate detail what he wanted to do. Soon Robin was moaning and writhing beneath him, and he chuckled against her neck fondly.

He pulled back a little, looking thoughtful. “You know, if you sat right up...”

“Next time,” she said hoarsely. “I just want you. Now.”

Strike grinned wickedly at her. “So, dirty talk. Noted,” he said, and Robin huffed a little in frustration, desire clenching in her groin.

“Come here,” she said suddenly, and pushed him off her, rolling them both and sliding the cuffs long the rail, turning them so she was on top and they were both gripping the rail above their heads. The bass of the music still thumped, thrumming in her veins as she straddled him and gazed down at him. The laughter in his eyes was gone, replaced with a smoulder that told her the situation was doing it for him, too.

She rocked forwards and lowered herself onto him, gasping at the stretching feel of him filling her. Strike groaned deeply as her tight heat squeezed him, and then cheering erupted from the hallway again and Robin giggled. Strike chuckled a little then shuddered and groaned at the feel of her muscles rippling around him.

“God, Robin, that’s so good,” he moaned. She leaned forward, pinning his other hand to the pillows with hers the way he had to her, and began to move. The feel of him inside her was delicious and she groaned softly as she rocked her body over his, leaning down to kiss him.

The noises from the hall were forgotten again as they moved together, heat building. Strike thrust up against her now, and Robin angled her hips so that her clit rubbed against his pubic bone. Heat was cresting within her rapidly and she knew she was close, the heat of everything that had happened this evening shredding her self-control. She was gasping, close to tumbling over the edge, when a series of bangs erupted from the hall, making her jump and slow her movements.

Strike groaned with frustration, bucking up against her gently. “Party poppers,” he managed, and Robin smiled. “For a moment I thought it was fireworks.”

He grinned and winked at her. “Soon,” he said, and took advantage of the pause to gently flip them back over again so that he was on top, taking care not to tangle the cuffs. Bracing himself with his arms, his shoulders arching over her in a way that made her tremble with arousal, he thrust back into her with a deep groan.

It soon became apparent that the bed was going to bang against the wall slightly in this position, but they were both past caring. Strike thrust into her again and again, and Robin, unable to cling to him with her hands pinned, simply threw back her head and enjoyed the feeling of him. Her legs wrapped around his backside, pulling him closer, deeper, and she could feel the pleasure building within her, taking her back to the edge.

Her orgasm hit her suddenly and she cried out, her back arching. The sight of her coming undone spectacularly beneath him, spread out for him, tipped Strike over the edge too, and with a shout he joined her, spilling into her. They rocked against one another, chasing every last pulse of pleasure.

Strike collapsed against her, breathing hard, in the sudden ominous silence, and before they could get their breath back, there was a huge cheer from the hallway, and several thumps on their wall and door.

Gasping, Robin gazed up at Strike and saw him looking back at her, pleasure in his eyes turning back to amusement. “I think those cheers are for us,” he said, laughing, and Robin squeaked a little in embarrassment. Then she started to laugh too. It was so fitting with this evening.

He withdrew from her gently, moving to lie half next to her and half on top of her, snuggling his face into her and humming with satisfaction. “That was amazing,” he murmured against her. Robin nodded lazily, stretched out and boneless, listening to the music fading and doors opening and closing. It sounded as though the lingerie show was over.

Presently Strike rolled onto his back and stretched and reached, and managed to get hold of the bag on the floor. He grinned at Robin and waggled the handcuffs’ key at her. “Would be a shame to have to break them,” he said with a wink. “We might want to keep them.”

Robin nodded, grinning back at him. “Definitely,” she said. Strike unlocked them and dropped the cuffs to the floor, and then scooped her into his arms. Robin pulled the covers up over them.

“What a wonderful, bizarre, crazy, fantastic evening,” Strike said into her hair.

Robin nodded sleepily. “I guess ‘one day’ was today.”

 

 


End file.
